The House That Jack Built

Lars Von Trier's 2018 film, "The House That Jack Built," transcends its surface narrative as a grimly comedic exploration of art and violence to serve as a potent dissection of its creator's own psyche.

The film's brutal story, punctuated by the existential musings of its titular character, Jack (Matt Dillon), serves as a conduit through which the filmmaker grapples with his own artistic impulses and the expectations levied upon him by society. To understand the film in its fullest context, one needs to delve deep into Von Trier's psyche and the broader tapestry of his own work.

Von Trier has been known for his controversial films, which often push the boundaries of societal norms and cinematic conventions. These are no casual forays into discomfort, but rather, they are systematic explorations of the human condition and the outer limits of behavior. At times, it seems as though Von Trier himself may benefit from psychoanalysis, if only to shed light on the psyche of the man who can create such unsettling masterpieces.

"The House That Jack Built," is not merely a tale about a serial killer; it is a study of a man who progressively pushes the boundaries of his art, mirroring Von Trier's own journey in filmmaking. Jack, initially an engineer, is bound by the constraints of his profession and societal norms, but he yearns for the freedom to be an architect, seeking to build a legacy for himself; something he can achieve through his own vision - in this instance, a house.

The pivotal moment in the film comes with the interjection of a sudden, transformative passion that sets Jack on a new path. It's a passion that steers Jack away from the norm, pushing him towards a path of greater personal significance - at least in his own eyes. This mirrors Von Trier's career, marked by a significant shift from mainstream narratives to pushing cinematic boundaries with films that provoke, challenge, and disturb.

Initially, Jack is depicted as a haphazard executioner, but as he grows more comfortable with his new 'craft,' his art becomes more daring, creative, and experimental. In a parallel manner, Von Trier's early pieces might have seemed less refined or unpredictable to some observers. However, as he honed his craft, experimented, trialed, and tests, he has developed a signature filmmaking style that consistently provokes intense responses from viewers.

In the end, Jack does indeed build a legacy, but not as he initially planned. His 'house' ends up being a collection of his monstrous deeds, a testament to his twisted artistic journey. Again, the parallels to Lars remain; His body of work, much like Jack's, has often been met with shock, controversy, and rejection. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, he continues to create, leaving an indelible mark on the world of cinema.

Von Trier's "The House That Jack Built" is thus not just a film about a murderer, but an exploration of the nature of art and the struggle of the artist. It is a deep dive into the mind of an individual who defies convention, providing a provocative commentary on the creative process and the artist's role in society. It is, in many ways, a self-portrait of Von Trier himself, who, like his protagonist Jack, continually tests the limits of his artistry, undeterred by societal perceptions.

You know that a Lars von Trier serial killer movie is unlikely to be like anyone else's serial killer movie; that it is most likely to be more gruesome and perhaps even with a streak of very black humour and "The House that Jack Built" certainly doesn't disappoint. What we might not have guessed was that it would take the form of a dialogue between our serial killer, Jack, (a never better Matt Dillon), and some Stygian boatman who is probably rowing him all the way to Hades, (Bruno Ganz. perfectly cast).

When it was shown at Cannes a number of critics walked out. Why? Could they really have been so sensitive or did they just want to punish von Trier for even showing up? Certainly no-one could deny that as serial killer movies go this one is highly original; you might even call it pretentious but then you'd be missing the joke or could that have been the reason for those walk-outs? Serial killers aren't supposed to be funny.

Using animation, paintings and newsreels to illustrate Jack's 'career' von Trier goes his own way as usual and the von Trier way is, as we know, both shocking and disturbing in ways other director's films simply aren't. If you want to see a 'thriller', forget it but if you want to get inside the head of one crazily inventive outsider, (von Trier, who else), then this is the one for you.

Lots of blood and violence but that's about it. Kind of long and drawn out

That feeling, when you're expecting a great thriller about an intelligent psychopath, and you get a surprisingly accurate, but still egotistic social criticism, with Lars von Trier's inner demons in the middle.

I have a proposal for those who have not yet seen 'The House That Jack Built', Lars von Trier's latest film (2018). Try to forget who the director is. I know it's not easy, because we are dealing with a person and a personality who provokes and shocks, who seeks and attracts scandals and who knows that advertising is best when it's bad. My opinion, after watching this film to which the 2018 Cannes Film Festival scheduled only a premiere out of competition, is that the attitudes and reactions triggered by this film are much more extreme than the film itself. It is a dissection and a psychological analysis of a serial killer, developed with effusion over two and a half hours of screening, but I did not find in this film anything that would shock me more than what I experienced for example at the screenings of 'The Silence of the Lambs' or 'Zodiac' and the graphic visual details do not exceed what we saw in the countless films in the series 'Scream', 'Halloween' or 'Elm Street', not to mention the violent and psychological intensity of the films of Tarantino, Lanthimos or von Trier himself. Whoever manages to separate this film from the advertising shell of the image that the director is trying to build to himself will have many reasons for cinematic satisfaction.

Von Trier assumes in 'The House That Jack Built' the risk of describing five episodes of the blood and corpse-laden journey of a serial killer. At one point, Jack, the hero of the film, played by Matt Dillon, confesses to his future victim that he committed 60 murders and is about to commit the 61st. One of the messages of the film may be that one should believe the statements of those who confess to criminal inclinations and bloody sins. Why is von Trier a special case? Other directors who have approached such themes and characters have not faced similar dangers, but von Trier has made enough other extreme films (but also some sublime ones) as well as shocking statements, so that when he speaks evil we may be tempted to believe him. Jack's travel partner in the film is most of the time a voiceover borrowed from Bruno Ganz, that of a character named Verge, who receives Jack's confessions and forces him to look for the roots of the deeds he commits. Is there any possible justification? Is there any other alternative end to this journey than in one of the hottest circles of Hell?

Matt Dillon succeeds to create in 'The House That Jack Built' one of the best roles of his career confirming the statistics that make the roles of psychotic criminals career peaks for the actors who play them. Bruno Ganz - in one of his last roles, he would die less than a year after the premiere of this film - creates an excellent counter-character in Verge, and the use of off-screen dialogue between the two is in this case perfectly justified. Lars von Trier copiously uses the collage technique by inserting animation, sequences from his own films, documentary sequences (including with characters embodying the evil that Hitler and Mussolini) and musical sequences such as those with pianist Glenn Gould. The original music and the soundtrack belong to Víctor Reyes and the cinematography to Manuel Alberto Claro, the faithful director of cinematography of von Trier for more than a decade. The America described by von Trier (who has never visited the North American continent) is perfectly believable, the realism of the scenes amplifying the horror effect. The combination of sophisticated references, core dialogue, psychological analysis of the character on the one hand and his behaviour on the screen on the other hand can be confusing and shocking, but it is interesting and asks questions that seem legitimate to me about how evil can be represented on screen. Anyone who knows von Trier's films understands that he rarely compromises. This is not the case here either and in my opinion the balance is clearly positive.